IN THE STEPPES OF THE UKRAINE

He sent me to another village called Varwarovka, which was located across the river. It was a big settlement of the working class population who were employed in the shipyard in Nikolaev.

The river Dniestr was very wide in this area and it took one half an hour to cross the wooden bridge, which was lifted a few times a day to allow the ships to pass through. But, at least it was almost the city.

The library was pathetic, a little house with a straw roof and stone floors. The books were crammed up to the low ceiling and were full of mice, dust and spiders. The staff that worked there met me with respect and was very friendly. I especially liked an older woman, Ekaterina Wasilievna, a war widow with a teenage daughter.

She showed me around and, not very impressed with what I saw, I presented myself to the head of the Culture Department. He was a drunk Ukrainian by the name of Djachenko. He played the role of a god for his staff, but nobody respected nor liked him. He hired me and I had to start work the next day. Meanwhile, I looked for a place to stay and soon found a widow with two teenagers who rented me a room that was not very far from the library.

There were not many utilities: no water, no washroom, no heating, only electricity, a lone bulb that hung from the ceiling. Water was a big problem. Everyone used a bucket with a long rope at the well that was located on the other side of the village, which was a long walk from where I lived. Then, the bucket was dragged with the rope all the way back. One can only imagine how many dirty buckets were placed in that well daily, and how dirty the water was. If we wanted to cook, there was an ancient primus stove that worked on gasoline of which we had to buy a supply. The primus often got stuck and burst into flames. It would have to be dropped so that you wouldn't get burned, the fire extinguished.

The house I settled in had a big garden with vegetables and a lonely apricot tree. The lavatory was far from the house, at the other end of the yard. The widow worked in some office and the children went to school. The girl was fourteen years old and was sweet and naive. The boy was twelve years old, shrewd and street smart.

The work in the library was not too bad. I liked to work with books and people. The circulation desk was my favourite place. The atmosphere in the library was relaxed and friendly.

I bought my food at a market and it was not very sanitarily safe. There were no stands at the market and the food was on the ground, which is not healthy. Soon, I experienced this myself. I got food poisoning in such violent form that my landlady called the emergency. I was in bed for a few days with a high fever, not able to lift my head and oblivious to what was going on around me. Somehow, I recovered and went back to work. A few days later, my drunken boss Djachenko, came to the library, confronted me, and accused me of cheating him. I asked him how and he said he thought I was Polish but found out I was Jewish. I asked him what difference it made and he didn't answer me. He made me suffer for that.

He ordered me, "the most educated" he said mockingly, to visit the village library of the region every week, help them to get straightened out, and to get them in proper working order­. That was my punishment and I didn't like it. First of all, there was no transportation and I had to wait on the road for hours for somebody who was going in the same direction. After hours of bumpy and dusty riding, I usually arrived in the Kolkhoz library unexpected and found the door locked. The post of a librarian in Kolkhoz was a cushy job and as a rule, it was the wife or daughter of the boss who knew nothing about library science. Mostly, the library was closed and she was home with the kids. There were many times I had to search for the person to unlock the door and she was not happy to see me. She had no desire to improve her skill in this area.

Once, I dealt with a young woman who acted like she was asleep and didn't react to my teaching. It was late and I didn't have transportation to go back that day, so she took me to her house for the night where she lived with her parents. I was given a cot that was behind a curtain in the only room and fell asleep. Strange noises woke me up from behind the curtain where she slept. It didn't take me long to figure out that this sleepy girl was working hard all night with a whole garrison of soldiers who were stationed nearby. The door was constantly opening and closing; I lost count. And, this was the librarian I had to help? In the morning, I didn't wait for a vehicle; I couldn't look her in the face. So, I walked, the sky above and me, for miles and miles of steppes. I had time to think about life and about people and their behaviour. I don't know why I was not afraid to walk alone out there, maybe the nature that surrounded me made me feel safe.

On the weekends, I had a special time in the city. I crossed the long bridge early, before it was lifted and at nine o'clock, I entered Nikolajew. First of all, I went to the bath house (Bania) and had a good wash. Then, I went to a cafeteria for lunch, and enjoyed the cooked food, soups and stews, etc. Then came the best part. The cinema. I went from one movie to the next and late in the afternoon, I went shopping for a week's supply of food.

At dusk, laden with heavy bags, I walked back over the long bridge to Varvarowka. Then I would work for the next week.

I couldn't write Eva, because I didn't live alone. The main thing was, in such a small place, if a foreign letter came to the post office, everyone would know who it was for. The experience with the Komsomol taught me a lesson; never talk about your relatives that lived abroad or trouble will be had, especially if you depended on your work to exist. But, I missed them and I needed the letters, as they were my only link with my family. Now I had cut that link off by my own hand. Maybe this was better; I could disappear without a trace....

I spent a lot of time on the little beach near the river Dniestr before work. I always had a book with me; otherwise I was alone. I didn't try to make friends because first of all I didn't meet anybody I wanted to be friends with, and secondly, I had so many "secrets" to hide that I was not eager to talk about myself. A few months later, I made friends with a nice girl named Nina. She was a student from Leningrad who came to visit her mother. We went to the beach together and had a good time telling funny stories.

I kept my sadness deep inside and I never forgot my past. My dreams were always about hiding, running, shooting; as though the war was still with me.

The only friend from Kiev I corresponded with was Maja, and we made plans to save money to go on a trip by ship to the Crimea, to the Black Sea next summer.

I had never seen a sea but had read enough about it and after a year in the steppes of the Ukraine, I wanted badly to go to a big city like Odessa which is located on the Black Sea.

It was good to have a dream, a goal to reach. It made your life more meaningful, bearable.

I severed all contacts with relatives and old friends and my loneliness was complete. With relatives I didn't have a choice. My boss would not have hired me in the first place. It was bad enough already that my passport had the line 5, nationality. With this handicap, if I added relatives abroad, I would be finished. Why did I cut out my friends, too?

It is hard to say, but deep inside I kept the memory of my oath when I left Poland - if I fail, it is never too late to finish the job of living. I won my life in a lottery. This was my attitude.... It can be temporary....

The idea to disappear without a trace was easy in Soviet Russia. By the way, years later, when we found each other again, Eva wrote me that all of them were convinced that I disappeared in a Gulag. I was very close to it in 1952 when the storm of Jewish cosmopolitanism was reaching Russia. Only Stalin's death changed the climate.

Nina soon left for University and I was still in that forsaken village with only prospects to spend a day off in the city. The movies I saw took me away from my present for a while, and I would be happy, but afterwards my loneliness would hit me even harder.

I spent New Year's of 1953-1954 at the house of my landlady's friends. Married, middle­-aged, they warmed up after consuming vodka and began their crude jokes, often about Jews. No, it was not an open anti-Semitism, but I didn't like it. As they drank, I excused myself, put on my coat and went out in the winter's night. It was a beautiful night; the sky was full of stars, the snow crispy under my feet and music came from the houses where people were celebrating the New Year. I walked for a long time, waiting for when the guests would leave the house, so that I could go to sleep. But, I was enjoying the beauty of the night.

The next spring, I went to the country libraries in remote villages more often. The picture was always the same. The Kolhoz villages were poor; there were few trees and no flowers. Even though I didn't know much about the system of Kolhoz, I understood that if the people had private property, they would be much better off than on collective farms.

Once, in the winter when a lot of snow fell, I was late coming home from the city and I decided not to take the icy bridge back. I chose to walk across the frozen river, which many people did. It was so still; there was nobody around, only me walking in the night. Suddenly, from far away, I heard a woman singing a Ukrainian folk song "The Blowing Winds". She had such a beautiful, haunting voice, and the song was about a girl who loved somebody, but was forced to marry a man she didn't love. The invisible singer and the winter night struck me. I think it is a huge gift of life to have a voice you can express your feelings with.

There was a bus that went to the city and back, over the bridge, but you never knew when it would come. Sometimes, you would freeze to the bone waiting for it. Then, so many people pushed in that it was almost bursting. It was warm inside, but I always had the feeling that the flimsy bridge would break under it.

After a year of working in that library, I began to think that it was time to move to a bigger city and a bigger library. I resented the primitive conditions under which I lived and worked. In the spring, I told the drunken boss Diachenko that I would not be back after summer vacation. He didn't say anything, but before my vacation, a new girl came from the same University I had attended, to take a look at her new workplace.

Her name was also Nina and she was Jewish. She took me aside and asked me to answer honestly if it was the right place for her. She was an orphan, too, and I felt sympathetic toward her. I told her to run from there and don't look back. She decided to go to a little town called Pervomaisk, and I loaned her money for the bus.

When I got a letter from Maja telling me she was coming, I quit my job, packed my very few belongings, took my savings and we boarded a bus to Odessa, where our trip to the Black Sea began. It was only one hundred kilometers to Odessa and we reached the outskirts of the city in two hours. For the first time in my life, I saw a sea. I was so fascinated by the Black Sea that I swore to myself that I would always live in a city on a sea.

So, at twenty-four years of age, I fell in love with the sea. Our plans were simple: to buy cheap tickets for a ship trip and go to Crimea and Jolla. But, it was easier said than done. To our great surprise, it was almost impossible to buy a ticket for the ship. Thousands of people stayed in line for a few days and nights to obtain one. It seemed so simple: if there were so many customers who wanted to buy tickets, why not open a few booths and make a profitable business out of it? But that was how the whole Soviet system worked. Propaganda, all the speeches were full of empty words like: First in line is the Soviet citizen and we only worry about his well being. Taking care of him was the whole idea ... They took care of themselves, that was the whole idea, not concern for the citizens.

We stayed in line for three days and nights. We took turns; one would stay in line and the other would look after the luggage sitting on the "Primorski Boulevard" that had a magnificent view of the port and the sea. It was only this view that compensated for our tiredness, frustration and often hunger, as we couldn't go to the city and buy a few buns or else we would lose our place in line or our suitcases.

MY VACATION WITH MAJA IN THE CRIMEA

Odessa was the most beautiful city in the south. More than eight hundred years old, it had a great history, historical places and old buildings that were built by famous Italian architects. The opera theatre was one of the marvels. And the people! I am not sure, but I think that in the 50's half the population was Jewish. Anyway, there was the biggest concentration of Jews, then Ukrainians, Greeks and others.

Odessa Jews were a special species of Jews. They were loud, outspoken, noisy and constantly using their hands when talking. They were also jokers with a great sense of humour. A lot of famous musicians came from Odessa such as Giliels, Oystrach and many artists and many comedians.

I liked Odessa, the soft climate, the sea, the people and the noisy living. But, when we boarded the ship "Rosja" after three days of waiting, we were glad to be able to get a good sleep. We didn't have a cabin, so like all the students that occupied the overcrowded deck, we had to find a little space to rest our valises because thieves were always lurking around.

But, the view from the ship! The city from the sea looked different, but not less beautiful. And then, there was the blue sea. Who could sleep with the dolphins? How could anybody miss these wonders? Another world appeared before me that I had only read about before and I loved it!

Maja was a good companion. She was intelligent, reserved and a wonderful friend. The next evening we were in JaIta. In the port, some shady types whispered in our ear, "Need lodgings? Come with me, I have the right room for you with a view of the sea." We looked around, bewildered and finally we chose an older lady that seemed safe.

We climbed some hilly streets and after an hour we arrived. It was one room that she occupied with her old man, and it had a flimsy veranda. I had to sleep with Maja in one bed and soon we were scratching all over because of the bedbugs. Is there a place in the world without them? We asked for permission to sleep on the veranda but then we had to contend with the mosquitoes. So, we covered our heads and fell asleep.

We spent our days wandering around and sightseeing. We used little sea trams to move from one place to another. Alupka, Alushta, Botanic Gardens, everything we ever read about before now became a reality to us. The sleepy resorts were full of southern charm.

We had sporadic meals, avoided the expensive and bad cafeterias. We bought fruit and bread and ate in the parks. We mostly ate melons with bread, which wasn't bad.

We wanted to spend some time on the Jalta beach, but when we looked down from the park we couldn't see an empty spot as it was so packed with vacationers from all parts of U.S.S.R. So, we rested in the shade of the park, on a secluded bench and enjoyed the balmy weather. Once, while lying on a bench, I looked up and pointed out my discovery to Maja. There, hanging on the tree above, were condoms that were not empty. Maja was very prudish and shocked and we never rested under this tree again.

One day we came “home” early and caught our landlady parading around in our lingerie, seducing the old man, who wasn’t her husband. We decided we had enough of Crimea.

After five days, we boarded the ship, which was packed to overflowing, and went back to Odessa. We found a small place and laid down in the crowd, head to toe, covered with one blanket.

The sea was stormy and I couldn’t sleep so I quietly got up and made my way to the back where I stayed for a long time while looking out at the black, stormy sea. As I stood there, I thought about my uncertain future. Would I find work and shelter in Odessa? When I returned to Maja in the morning, I found her sitting up, looking very confused. What had happened? When she woke up and called my name, she got no answer. So, she pulled the blanket back and to her great horror she discovered the curly, black head of a Georgian guy sleeping with her. For the first second she couldn’t figure out where I got such curly hair. The guy woke up and seeing her fear shouted “Don’t worry, nothing happened. I was cold and crawled in. Thank you.” We laughed all the way back to Odessa.

Maja took the train home to Kiev. I stayed in a shabby hotel with four other women in the room and the next day I went to the Minister of Culture to ask for work. Work was not a problem in a big place like Odessa, but I had to be registered by the police. This could only be done if I had a place to live permanently.

What a vicious circle! The police only registered people who worked there, and they only gave you work if you were registered.

Meanwhile, I looked for cheaper lodgings, as I couldn’t stay in a hotel long. I asked a Jewish woman about renting a corner and she said that she could take me for a month because her children lived on the campus. The cost was one hundred rubles, which was cheaper than the hotel, so I went.

She slept on the bed and I slept on a little couch. So many tenants used the kitchen, it was like a battlefield. I never went in there.

I spent my days arguing with the authorities about the stupid rules, which were preventing me from getting a job; even though they needed my qualifications and me. In desperation, I shared my problem with my landlady. She gave me some simple advice; put ten rubles in my passport where the seal would be placed and give it to the woman who dealt with passports. I never used a bribe before and I was scared, but my problem was solved in a second. I had my passport with an Odessa seal. I was now a legal citizen of the city.

It was some relief to be legal, not on the run, without even a roof above your head. (Soon I had to leave the hotel woman because her children were coming home from campus) so now I was looking for a new corner to rent.

Walking around the city and asking for a place to rent is like being a beggar. Most people simply turned me away saying "No" and I believed them. Odessa was overcrowded anyway.

But some like to first investigate who I was (sure I never told my life story) and being after graduation was a big handicap. A student they could take temporarily but a working person is a threat to their flat, because some people later claimed the right to their extra square feet that they had rented and won the space.

So, no wonder they were weary of such tenants, but what drove me mad was their mocking. First they ask you, then they refuse with such relish. They felt so much superior to me - homeless and begging.

All the six years I spend in Odessa were a constant hunt for lodgings. It was very humiliating and very depressing.

LIBRARIAN IN ODESSA

The job was waiting for me. The library was located in the industrial part of the city, near the sea. My boss was a sixty year old Jewish matron, Asia Mojseevna, with a staff of only a few. One was an illiterate veteran of the war who knew nothing about how a library worked but was a Communist. Then, on the circulation desk, was a woman, Nina Pietrowna who said she was thirty-nine and after five years of working there, she was still thirty-nine! When I asked if she had a husband, she said "a temporary".

Anyway, I was assigned to the reading hall upstairs and I could see that it would take a lot of work to make the place look like it should. But, I was full of energy with a desire to work so it was not a problem. The problem was to find another "corner' because the children of the landlady were coming back and there was no place for me. After searching for a long time, I again found a temporary back room without a window that I had to share with another student. To get in or out, we had to pass the room of our landlady who had a big family of kids. So, we tried to stay in "our" room, which was cold, damp and dim. I couldn't read in such a dim light so I tried to stay longer at the library and came home late knowing I would fight all night with bed bugs. It was a depressing living space, but I had no choice.

Meanwhile, I liked my work and I felt that this was for me. Even the depleted state of the library didn't scare me. I began to draw new signs, made library posters, improved the state of the card system, and the catalogue. The main thing was that I worked with people, tried to help in their studies and searched for books for them. This really gave me the satisfaction that I needed.

I really liked and respected my readers. Being trained as a bibliographer, a specialist in references gave me the ability to help many students, even professors, in their search for right answers. I simply couldn't say "No" even if it took me lots of work, time to do the research they needed.

I think that I was a decent worker - not trying to avoid hard tasks. Now, being my own boss in the reference hall I even satisfied my artistic side, my desire to draw. There was a lot of drawing in library work. You only had to want to do it.

The one thing I really didn't like was lecturing - talking in public. (We were obligated to inform about new books, mostly political, communist propaganda and I avoided it like hell).

I even made an agreement with the downstairs circulation workers that I would do all of their drawings and signs if they replaced me in a lecture. Sometimes it worked - not always.

If I was forced to lecture, I was always shy and my Polish accent was easy to spot, even though otherwise I was very fluent in Russian and Ukrainian.

That was the only thing I hated to do was speak in public. Period.

My boss, Asia Mojseevna was a very shrewd woman with an ability to turn everything to her advantage. Very soon, I realized that I was considered a devoted librarian who worked for real.

The users of the library grew monthly; students came from downtown for help. The reading hall that used to be empty overflowed, and Asia boasted to her superiors that her library and "her" work had improved. I didn't care. I was in the process of making the hall look cosy, literate, and professional; so I spent long hours before and after work there.

I had a friend, Tania Jankowka who was a graduate from my school. She worked in the big scientific library that was not very far from me. She rented a corner with an old Jewish woman who often visited her relatives. On weekends, Tania invited me for a meal and we would spend the day talking. The one problem with Tania is that we couldn't walk on the street together. She was over six feet tall and I was only half her size. Otherwise, we got along very well and had a good time. Again, I had to look for a new corner. My work at the library began at one o'clock in the afternoon, so I had the morning free to go around and find somebody to rent me a corner. All spring I spent my half days knocking on doors asking strangers for shelter. I had no luck.

Finally, when I was absolutely desperate, my luck improved. I found a corner with a young Ukrainian couple, Tania and Sergej and their three-year-old son. It was in the centre of a two-family apartment in a new house with all utilities - water, washroom, gas and heat. What could have been better? True, I slept in the annex. This was forbidden as the gas from the kitchen had to go through to the open window, but I didn't care.

And this was the first decent "corner" that I had in many years. I could have a bath, the lavatory was not outside. I appreciated it very much and tried hard to fit in with my hosts.

One little problem was their neighbours, two older women, a mother and a spinster daughter. They reminded me of Michalina's lodgers, the beggars. We had nothing in common. There were so illiterate that we could only talk about the weather. Because they were always home (retired) the only entertainment they had was to spy on me and then report my behaviour to Tania.

In the beginning there was nothing to report. I was a model tenant, but later when my boy friend Aran began to visit me (he worked nearby, next door) and we ate our lunches together sometimes before I went to work (my work began at 1 o'clock), this made life exciting and rich with events for the old witches. "She cooked perogies with potatoes for him today" they reported to Sergei and Tania.

Anyway, it was not moral to let a man in. By the way, Tania informed me that the daughter, in her younger years, was a whore. Now she was a saint.

But even with these witches, I was content with my "corner" and spent a couple of years in peace.

Tania was my age and looked after her son and hated her husband, a carpenter who, in my opinion, was a very good, quiet guy. He was older, short in stature and she had married him to get out of the kolkhoz in order to live in a city like Odessa. She resented him and didn't want to be intimate with him and wanted out. I was happy with the way things were. It was the first time in many years that I had a decent corner and I didn't want to lose it.

So, I became friends with Tania and I cheered her up. We went to movies during the day on weekends with her son and had a good time. She postponed her divorce with Sergei, even got a job and put her son in day care.

When the golden Odessa summer came, I left the house at seven o'clock in he morning and took the tram to Luzauovka, a beach away from the city that I liked so much. I spent all my vacations there. I liked to go when the sun rose and the huge empty beach belonged to me. I sat there and watched the sun rising above the sea. I watched the birds, the passing boats and I felt good being alone with nature. Soon, others arrived and the beach became hot and noisy with the Odessa characters. At noon, I boarded the tram to work, where I stayed until nine o'clock in the evening.

My boss, Asia Mojseevna praised my work to the sky and planned to invite all the city librarians for a seminar in her library. The library used to be so obscure that nobody visited them.

Once, when we were talking about her grown son and her daughter who was in high school, she told me how good her homemade chicken soup was. I mentioned that I had forgotten how it tasted as it had been more than twenty years since I had such a delicacy. She didn't say anything, but a few weeks later she brought me a package and said that it was a chicken so I could make soup. I almost cried at her kindness and thoughtfulness. I paid her the cost of the chicken and took it home. When I opened the package, I was shocked. The chicken was sick as it had red boils all over it. I threw it out, and although the loss of the money I paid for it upset me, I was more hurt and disappointed in this Jewish woman. She had made a mistake when she bought the chicken but she didn't want to feed it to her kids, and didn't want to lose her money, too. So, when she showed me her "kindness", she knew I would pay her, and didn't care if I ate it, didn't care what happened to me. I didn't say a word, and she never asked me how the chicken was. I began to despise her, and in my contempt, I couldn't look her in the eyes when I spoke to her. '

I noticed all her faults and her machinations with new books, which she kept in her office and lent out to influential readers such as the managers of food stores and doctors, etc.

I had a good laugh when I heard the story of her adventure in a public washroom downtown (they were awful). She was in the woman's section doing her business when a hand of some pervert reached from under the men's section and grabbed her private place. She ran, screaming, with her pants down, straight to a doctor. But, the doctor only advised her to wash herself. She went back to work; all upset, and washed her underwear in the washroom. Then, she hung them to dry in her office on the wall where she normally hung her coat. It so happened that one of her favourite customers, an engineer, came to her office for a book she had promised him. She was pleased to talk to him, as she liked to flirt with him, but had forgotten about the display on the wall until she caught him looking at it. When she told the staff about her adventures, I laughed hysterically as did everybody else.

KATIA AND ARON

We had a few students that studied in our library. I got very friendly with one of them by the name of Katia Waizer who was a typical Odessite. Loud, noisy and pushy, she was so different from me that I avoided her at first. But, she was pushy, constantly begging me to join her when she went to play in chess tournaments after work (she was a good chess player). I resisted for a long time, but once she forced me to join her and I followed like a sheep to the club where a tournament was going on. I have to say, I was never interested in chess and didn't know how to play.

It was at this tournament that she introduced me to a tall guy who had curly hair. He was the judge of the tournament by the name of Aron Kaptsan. When Katia went to play, he kept me company and invited himself to come to my library, which was quite far from the centre where he lived and worked. Later, we found out that his Institute was next door to my house .... fate.

Anyway, the next evening he came to the library to borrow a book, and that was how it began. I think Katia had the feeling that she overdid it in this case and that she was planning something for herself, but she never held a grudge. Soon, she had another object by the name of Lenia Stoulyarov who was also a chess player.

She got a bunch of her friends, who were mostly young men, tickets to the Philharmonic for a concert and we occupied the whole balcony. I sat between Aron, who at this time had a bad cold and was constantly sneezing, and Katia. She poked my side with every sneeze, giggling stupidly. I don't know what we found so funny, but we were having fun because we were young and giggly. In my heart, I felt sorry for the sneezer.

Then, Katia invited a bunch of her friends to her birthday that was being held in the little room she occupied with her parents. About her parents, her father, a piano tuner was a sweet man, and she loved him as much as she hated her mother. It was a mystery to me, how could anyone hate his or her own mother? But she told me that her mother was a selfish person and that she never cared about her family. Katia showed me the place where her mother hid candies and pastries in a drawer to devour when she was alone. People ....

So, Katia's birthday was noisy and I enjoyed myself within Jewish company and I liked their humour. I was grateful that Katia invited me. Aron drank vodka like a fish and became amorous. He walked me home and that was how we discovered that his workplace was next door to where I lived.

The next day, he visited me and invited me for lunch. This became a habit and we met for lunch every day. After lunch, I went to work. A week later he proposed, but I refused, as we were still new to each other. He lived with his mother in what used to be a kitchen that didn't have a window and in which only the beds fit. I didn't have anything to offer materialistically, and the romantic side was still in the beginning stages. But, I liked to go out with him, which was mostly to the park since both of us had little money.

He was in the process of writing exams to graduate from engineering school and I helped him to rewrite his theses; beautifying his writing, making it clean. When he was finished, he bought me flowers and a box of chocolates and we went to a restaurant to celebrate with his coworkers.

I didn't feel comfortable under the scrutiny of his female coworkers. I felt they were critical of me, that I was too short and not pretty. Women can be so catlike cruel. He stupidly told me that they told him the next day at work how he had made a bad choice, and suggested Sofa, who was also an engineer. She had an apartment, which was the most important thing at that time, and she wanted him. She was also the right size. They were so loyal to Sofa that they tried to convince him that I was nothing. And he told me this! I saw him everyday as he either came over to my room or he would come pick me up from the library at the end of the day. We would walk together to a cafeteria to have supper.

My neighbours did not appreciate his visits to my room, although I don't know why, and they reported this to Tania when she came home from work. Tania didn't like it either; she would rather I stayed single and unhappy - human nature. She liked her friends to be in worse circumstances than she was.

Anyway, I had other troubles at work now. My relationship with Asia had deteriorated. Katia worked with me, but she was constantly being picked on by Asia because she didn't like her. I defended Katia, but in vain. Once, the accountant came while Asia was out and she asked me to give Asia some papers. Together, with Katia, we looked at the papers and what I discovered made me really mad. All my drawings and posters were listed under a fictitious name of an artist who got paid for them. The cheques for the "work" were listed. Sure, I did them during my workday, not for extra money, but why was she stealing? She had nothing to do with my artwork, which made her library famous. The next time she was picking on Katia, I stepped in and told her that she shouldn't look for perfection when she wasn't perfect, either! She asked me what I meant and I told her.

Boy, was she mad! Now, I was the bad guy. She accused me of being a born demagogue and a thief because I looked through the documents. Yet, she falsified money orders, which was punishable by jail. How dare I look at them! It would have been so funny had the situation not been so sad and dirty. I lost faith in any decency, what a wicked world.

Meanwhile, a week before this scandal, she did me a favour. I had to leave Tania because they were all against the visits from Aron (except Sergei) so I had asked Asia to allow me to sleep on the couch in the reading hall for a while. Reluctantly, she agreed. After closing at nine o'clock, the library was silent; only I was locked inside with the rats running around. Now, I had enough books to read. Sometimes, Aron kept me company, but he lived downtown and had to catch the train to go back. Often, my friend Tania Jankovska, who didn't live far away, came to visit me. Once, on a weekend, I convinced her to spend the night and she slept on the couch and I made myself something like a stretcher to sleep on. I attached a piece of strong fabric to two logs and used two chairs to stick them in and very carefully, I climbed onto this makeshift bed. Sure, I tumbled down when the chairs moved, much to Tania's amusement. This happened a few times during the night. Tania would wake up and finding it very funny, would giggle. I didn't want to sleep on the floor because of the rats, so I did this all night.

After my confrontation with Asia, I was expelled and it so happened that a neighbour of Katia had left for a month and had given her the key to watch over their flat. Katia invited me to sleep there.

It was good luck for me that the library had to be renovated and, because of this, it had to be closed for two years (the construction worked with such speed). The staff had to be sent to work in different libraries.

I was sent to a nice library in another part of the city that was next door to Aron's sister, Fira and her family, and not far from his other sister, Sara and her family. So, he introduced me to them and Sara, who was a very down to earth, practical woman found out that I didn't have a place to live. She began to work on Aron, introduced him to a woman doctor who had a nice apartment. ....

All of them thought I was holding Aron back, but it was the other way around. Yes, I was thrilled to have a Jewish boy friend, and I was longing to tell my story for so many years but had nobody to listen. I felt the urgency to break my silence and I so badly wanted to feel compassion, love and have somebody who would understand why I was afraid to have a Jewish family, children. Wonder if it happened again? So, I decided to tell him. Once, sitting in the park, I haltingly began to open my heart. I had to tell him, it simply became an obsession.

Soon, I felt that he wasn't responding the way I expected him to, and I felt he wanted me to stop. I thought maybe he didn't want me to get upset. Anyway, he said I should forget about the past and look into the future with him. It was a very rational, practical and clever thing to say, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear, so I stopped telling my story and never continued again.

I really didn't know what I wanted from him. Maybe I wanted to cry together over the Jewish tragedy; his rationalism hurt me.

He insisted we get married, and because we both had summer vacations, that we should go on a trip along the shore of the Black Sea, to Sochi and Suhumi and other places. This was his dream vacation. I asked him then what would happen after? He told me not to worry so much, that we would find a place to rent and live together. I didn't say anything; I had a lot of experience in renting rooms.

MARRIAGE

I decided to go with him to the office in ZAGS to register our marriage. It took fifteen minutes and after we took a picture together in which my eyes were swollen from crying all night. Then we went our separate ways, he went to his work and I went to mine.

In the evening, we were invited to the house of his sister Fira and her family for supper. Present were his three sisters Fania, Sara and Fira and their families except for one of Fira's sons who was in the army and Fania's son, Wladimir who was half Jewish. Also, his eighty-two year old mother was there. I didn't think this was our wedding reception: a family supper with meat patties, mashed potatoes and compote.

But this was our reception.

I don't think they were very enthusiastic about me, a doctor with a flat would be more welcome, but Aron was persistent and they had to accept his choice.

As I was fighting with my doubts and my uncertainty about my right to have a Jewish family, I was quite oblivious to the currents around me. His family didn't impress me. I only liked one person, his brother-in-law Mosia, a kind, friendly, and visibly oppressed man by his bossy wife, Sara. Their only daughter, Lina, was twenty and was the object of worry for her mother. How to find a husband for her? (she was not a beauty) Neither was I but at least I didn't have a big nose.

Anyway, after the reception we went our separate ways - he with his mother and me to some temporary "corner."

In Odessa, the summer begins in April, so as usual, everybody was planning to go somewhere on summer vacations.

Arons's plans were a trip on the Black Sea, to spend all month with a tent and sleeping bags wandering on the Caucasus shores, like Sochi, Suchumi, Gagry and smaller resorts. Wild vacationers.

A TRIP ALONG THE BLACK SEA

We went on our trip. We boarded the ship, this time we had chairs to sit on the deck (no cabin) and we took some cans of food and spent time looking over the boat; the sea always made me feel good. Maybe everything would be O.K.

In Sochi, we slept in a tent we had, and then wandered up into the mountains to a little camp called Krasnaja Polana. It was very beautiful, a resort in the middle of a wilderness. We didn't belong with the guests of the resort so we put our tent up under a hill, cooked a meal and felt that we were all alone in the world. It was very romantic, except for the nasty mosquitoes. We slept in sleeping bags and felt safe in the tent.

That night, it began to rain and soon we were under a creek that was coming down from the mountains right onto the roof of our tent. We had to relocate and I thought, with envy, about the people in the resort, sleeping in warm beds under a roof. In the morning, the sun was shining again and we went into the mountains where we found a waterfall. We crossed a river on a bridge made of rope (I was scared to death), came back to pack up the tent, boarded the bus and went to Suchumi, a big city. We rented a room right near the beach. We went to a bazaar to buy some food and ate it on the beach where we spent the rest of the day. That night, the sea got stormy. The window of our room was broken and the noise of the rumbling sea kept me awake as my husband slept.

From there we went to a quiet resort by the name of Novy Afon, famous because of a big, old monastery where monks lived. We rented a cubicle of a room from a Georgian family who had divided their house into cubicles to rent out and make money. We decided to stay there for a week. We spent all day on the beach as it was the end of summer and not many people were there.

My husband decided it was time I learned how to swim but his teaching didn't help me much as I was a coward in the water. One Georgian guy was shouting from the beach encouragement like "Chicken, don't be afraid! Swim!" But, I couldn't and that was that.

On the way to the cafeteria, we saw a donkey that was attached to a tree by a rope. Aron wanted to take a picture of me on the donkey. I didn't like the donkey and didn't want my picture taken but failing to learn how to swim, I decided to show him that I wasn't a chicken. I climbed onto the donkey and Aron took the picture. I don't know who was more afraid -the donkey or me. We both did not look happy.

It was a lazy, slow life in that village, but I constantly felt the pressure of the uncertain tomorrow. I knew I was the kind of person who couldn't enjoy the present fully if I didn't know what tomorrow would bring. I was a constant worrier. And I worried with good reason, a married couple without a roof over their heads.

We also went to Picunda, another beautiful place. It was a famous resort, which had an ancient forest that went right up to the beach. The beach was different from other beaches because it consisted of big, round pebbles of all colours that were polished by the sea. It really was unique. We had found shelter for the night in a woman's monastery. Our cell had a blind window and was small and stuffy. I felt I was in the Middle Ages. Otherwise, it was a fantastic place! A little strange, like the past and present brought together in one place.

The problem with food we solved simply. We were buying bread and canned food like cod liver, anchovies, and sometimes we went to a cafeteria for some soup, but I didn't like the Georgian cuisine - too spicy for my taste. The usual soup was "gazpacho," a very hot meal.

We attended the bazaars to look at the exotic fruit and other food. We couldn't afford it but were free to look. Usually be bought apples and it was okay. We didn't need much.

It was the beginning of September and not many vacationers were around so we were mostly alone wandering around. Only the beaches were still alive and we spent a lot of time there.

The sea was not so quiet, big waves were crashing on the shores and their rumbling you could hear from a distance.

The cubicle we rented at a Georgian house was so full - you heard every breath and sound through the cardboard walls. Coming out in the morning to the pump for a wash, people avoided looking at each other.

Upon arriving in Suchumi, we again succumbed to a whisper. An old Georgian Jew made us a deal on a nice room that wasn't expensive. We went with him, and later left our things in the room to explore the city. We visited the monkey zoo that was famous for its research, and went to a noisy, but very colourful bazaar where the sellers dragged you by the sleeve to their stands to buy fruit.

In the evening, we went to "our" room. The owner told us not to switch the light on so we undressed in the darkness and went to bed. We heard whispers and movement around us and we soon found out that in every corner was a couple in a bed, four beds altogether. The old guy made money in a wicked way.

Suchumi was the last city we had planned to visit so we boarded the ship to go home. Home ....

Going on the vacation was the right thing to do and I was grateful that Aron convinced me to go. Sure, it was great to be carefree, to enjoy and it really was our honeymoon.

It was the beginning of September as we boarded the ship. The sea was stormy, black and scary. We went down to the machines to warm up. Again, I couldn't sleep and went up on deck. My black mood came over me with such ferocity. What now? Did I do the right thing in marrying without hope to have my own place? What kind of couple were we? When would I stop wandering - the wandering Jew.

HOMELESS AND MARRIED IN ODESSA

After arriving in Odessa, Aron went back to his mother, and my friend found me a room to rent (it wasn't for a couple) in a big communal apartment. One of the tenants was a Jewish woman by the name of Roza who rented me her spare room for good money. The other tenants resented it because she made money and they didn't like her. There were constant arguments and quarrels; even fist fights. Once, Roza told me that she came into the kitchen and there was her burly neighbour, a truck driver, peeing into the sink. She asked him what he was doing and he calmly answered that he was washing his member.

My room was cold as there was no heat. I went there only to sleep as I worked in the new library all day and the evenings were spent with Aron at the movies or with friends like Katia Waizer.

My new co-workers were aware of my relations with Asia but they only knew her side of the story. I didn't tell anybody except for Aron (Katia was in the middle of that) because I didn't want to send a Jewish woman to prison. But, she was babbling to everybody and she wasn't telling the truth. Anyway, soon I was accepted; it felt good to work with nice people.

They gave me the task of reconstructing and beautifying the library, to make new posters and to put the library into order. Soon, I was the consultant and advisor and they listened to me. I worked hard, I was never lazy and the work gave me the satisfaction that I was doing something useful, something they appreciated. I loved my work.

Soon, Roza's neighbour won and she had to let me go or her room would have been confiscated. This time, Aron's co-worker, Sofa, the woman who wanted to marry him, gave me shelter. She lived with her mother in a two room apartment and they welcomed me warmly for which I was grateful. Sofa was a warm, good girl who was still unmarried.

In the spring, Aron met his former friend Grisha Gidal who had left Odessa for Latvia where he lived with his mother Bronia in the sea city of Liepaja. He worked as a vice-director of the Liepaja port. Aron told him about our situation and Grisha, who was a six and a half foot bachelor, offered him a job and housing in Liepaja. Aron immediately agreed without even asking me. Grisha left for Liepaja and we discussed this often. What could I say? That I loved Odessa were only words but the reality was that we had to leave to make a family life. The only thing I liked was that Liepaja was on the sea, the Baltic Sea.

Aron went first because the house, where we were going to rent a flat, was still under construction. And, because the city was a military base, permission by the police was needed to enter.

So, I stayed at Sofa's, worked at the library and finished the task I was assigned.

The director of the library, Korsensky, was so pleased with the result that again all the librarians of the city were invited for a seminar, including Asia. It was a huge success and I was highly praised by everyone.

Aron asked me to spend the last week before I had to leave at his old mother's place and to sleep on his iron bed. I have to say that when he first took me there, to introduce me to his mother, I was speechless at the conditions they lived in. It was a former tiny kitchen without a window, so desolate and poor that my heart was aching for them. It was such a miserable place that I can't even describe it. And, they lived there for fifteen years after the war.

Having three sisters and a brother (he died at the end of the 50's) who exchanged their former big apartment for separate apartments in the city for their families, it was cruel and selfish to leave the old mother and teenaged brother in such a hole.

It was hard to imagine the conditions. It was forever dark, a little washroom without any utilities, two narrow iron beds, no chairs, so drab and shabby.

Mother was over 80 and very sick - a little fragile thin woman, mostly bedridden, and the "good" daughters were not interested in the situation.

The only one who sometimes visited them was Fira, the nurse (her work was nearby) and her usual "Hello" was really "Hello, I came to say that I have to go."

For Aron's birthday she usually gave him a pair of socks. The others didn't bother. But when it came to the point that their brother made a choice to marry, they all tried to convince him that he should marry a girl with a flat. A very romantic clan. On the other hand, maybe this was the right solution. Russia....

Actually, with six children, they had four rooms and this kitchen, before the war. During the evacuation, his father died, who was in his fifties. When they came back, they found a Russian officer occupied part of the apartment. His sisters moved to other parts of the city and left the old mother and the youngster in this kitchen.

I blamed the sisters' selfishness and egotism. Sure, the time after the war was hard, but how hard had it been for this pair, a mother who was too old and weak to work, and a youngster who had to work and study, living in these miserable conditions.

So, I stayed with Aron's sick mother and I cleaned the little kitchen, scrubbed the floor and washed everything. She was so pleased that not only did I do those things, but also there was somebody to talk to. A sick, lonely mother; it was heartbreaking. Of all the three sisters, only Fira sometimes stopped in for a minute to say hello, but never to clean the filthy place.

Finally, the day came when I had to leave Odessa by plane for Riga.

I had no idea that Katia Waizer informed all our former and present friends about my departure. It was six o'clock in the morning when I saw a crowd waiting for me. I was so embarrassed and mad at Katia. Why should these people get up so early, drag themselves on the bus all the way to the airport to say goodbye to me? There was quite a crowd, like I was some dignitary. Aron's sister, Sara, was there and a few years later she told me that if so many people came to say goodbye to someone, that she must have been worth something. It was all Katia's doing. She told them that I didn't have anybody there and that they should all go and show how much they cared for me. It only goes to show what nice they were, including my noisy Katia.

I was feeling extremely embarrassed by this crowd around me, baffled, in the middle. Half of them I didn't even know well. They were Katia's friends and I am sure that it was a pure mitzvah to see me departing for Riga.

Sometimes, Katia surprised me so much that I can't understand her actions. But whatever it was, I learned that under her noisy, pushy manners there was a kind and sad human.

Her problems with her mother always baffled me. There was pure hatred under one roof, with the father in the middle. Her mother was stupid enough to complain to neighbours about her daughter, gossiping and making her look bad in their eyes.

People are different, all sorts are part of the human race. Again, this was not the prototype of a Jewish mother. No wonder Katia hated her.

I went on a plane for the first time in my life. I loved it! I loved to fly. After seven hours, I was reluctant to leave the plane. Aron was meeting me at the Riga airport.

I was very impressed by the city. What a beautiful city Riga was; old and at the same time modern, European-like. It had narrow streets in the old part of the city and wide boulevards in the new part.

We wandered around sightseeing for hours. It was a nice spring day in May and we liked what we saw, very different from noisy and dirty Odessa. People were more reserved there and well-behaved.

LATVIA LIEPAJA - OUR NEW HOME

In the evening, we arrived at Liepaja, an industrial, windy city with a population of one hundred thousand, located along the Baltic Sea. It was clean and very old and had some historical places that dated back a few hundred years. It had its own Pedagogic University, Music College and many schools. In the centre of the city was the Marine Officers club with a big library, cinema and theatre. There was a Latvian and a children's theatre and a few cinemas. But, the main thing was the Baltic Sea with its white, sandy endless beach. This beach and sea were famous for the amber that could be found in the sea grass after a storm.

We had to spend the first two weeks in the dormitory of the port because the house was still not ready. The first evening we went to visit Grisha and his mother Bronia who became my best friend and protector there. She was like all Jewish mothers; doting over her only son who was thirty years old and held a high position in the port, but was still her baby. She had every reason to dote, as he was the only one left in her family. Later, she told me her tragic story.

She was left an orphan when she was young and grew up with relatives and worked for them as a maid. At sixteen, she married a guy who was six years older and they had two beautiful and talented sons, David and Grisha.

At twenty years, David graduated from a military academy and went to serve as an officer in the city of Tashkent. A terrible earthquake ruined the city and killed many people, including her son, David. And, as if that was not enough, her beloved husband, at the age of forty, was diagnosed with an incurable cancer, and soon passed away. She had a nervous breakdown and was in the hospital for some time. When she was released, she had to raise her only son, Grisha, alone. She was a seamstress by profession. During wartime, when they were evacuated with her little boys, she saved their lives by sewing for people.

When I was introduced to her, I saw surprise on her face and some disappointment. She expected to see a more presentable bride, and there I was; small and shy, between her six foot five inch son, and Aron, who was also tall. Anyway, she got over it and she welcomed me warmly. Soon, I felt as though I had known her for a long time. I felt how kind and generous she was and simply loved her.

Two weeks before we moved into the new apartment, we were wandering around, sightseeing and investigating our future home. I liked Latvia; it was more civilized and cleaner than in the Ukraine. I loved the market, not only for the stands, the colourful arrangement of produce but also for the politeness of the people. They were never rude to a customer, which in Odessa was often the rule of thumb.

The Latvians were more cultured, civilized than the Ukrainians, and what I really liked was they were more reserved - not noisy.

And clean. The market was like a show piece. Stands, nice wrapping, produce washed, and polite sellers. Sure, they sold different things there - no more apricots, peaches, and exotic fruits. But lots of apples, pears, plums, vegetables.

And mushrooms! Several kinds of them, also wild strawberries sold by glasses, berries also.

The city was industrial, but had a meat factory and a fish kolkhoz. The most popular fish in the Baltic, cod - here it was called the chicken of the Baltic. They had in the stores every day fresh cod and it was cheap. On the contrary, meat was very expensive.

When we arrived there in 1960 it was still a land of plenty. What happened in the later years, when Brezniev was ruling is a mystery. Food became scarce.

Lines for food were an everyday occurrence.

I liked the streets that were paved with stones. But, most of all, I was fascinated by the sea, the white beach, which was endless, going many miles on both sides. And the dunes, little hills of sand that the wind whirled around, changing their shapes. The beach was half empty, not like in the south where the beach was packed, and the hunt for the ancient amber stone was fascinating.

Finally, we moved into our own flat! The first home I had after being homeless for twenty years. We had one bedroom, a kitchen, hallway and washroom. We even had a little balcony since our flat was on the fourth floor. Our house was five storeys high and was located near a canal that fell into the sea. The bridge above the canal was a few yards from us. The canal divided the old city from the new city and we lived on the main street called Leuina.

I was excited to decorate my own room. First, we bought a couch for two, with a name "Lira." A few weeks later, we acquired more furniture: a table, chairs and a wardrobe. I hung some reproductions of famous pictures, without frames, on the walls and bought a colourful rug for the floor.

As we settled in, I went to look for a job. The only library in town was a big Russian library at the Marine Officers' club. I left my address, since the Director wasn't in, and went to the market, which was close by. Since I had more time, I decided to buy wool, which was a rarity, to knit Aron a sweater for the winter.

Grisha and his mother moved to the second floor so we were close neighbours. I often spent time knitting as Bromia sewed at their place. She taught me how to cook and gave me many tips on how to improve my culinary skills, which were poor. We shopped for food together and stood in line for hours for chickens, which were a rarity in the south at that time, and talked and talked. I didn't try to tell my Polish experience again. I locked it up deep inside of me. It got to me that nobody was interested in this subject; that Russian Jews were indifferent or scared to talk about it. I put a seal on my mouth. Live in the present, the past is behind, gone. Bad dreams? So what, dreams are not real. I cherished my friendship with the old Jewish mother, but I was not going to burden her with my "cures."

One day, when I was at home knitting, a boy came to the door and told me that a man was waiting for me in the yard. I was intrigued, who would be asking for me? Soon I found out that it was the Director from the library where I had left my address. His name was Andrej Vekshin, an invalid from the last war. He hired me on the spot to take over the reference department.

The next day I went to work. There were five members on staff, all of whom had diplomas. I got friendly with them and I liked my boss. He was a very clever and decent man. His wife was Jewish so, as a boss, he was loyal and fair to Jews.

Now, I dealt with different kinds of readers, Marine officers and their families. It was a more demanding job but I liked it and felt at home there.

The distance from work to home was a five minute walk and was on the same street on which I lived. The library budget was higher because it was a military library, so it was a nice place to work. Sure, our salaries were low because as the culture front, we were the lowest paid. But, our two salaries combined made a difference in our personal budget and we bought the rest of the furnishings for our flat.

After a month of working happily, I suddenly discovered I was pregnant. I was not pleased. Pregnant women were not welcome at a new place of employment. The administration suspected that if a person said, "she didn't know" of her condition when she was hired, they thought she was cheating the company. They felt she was counting on paid maternity leave. Many women did this, but it was not in my nature to cheat and I felt guilty.

Aron was happy, but I decided not to say anything to anybody, not even to Bronia and I made Aron keep silent. I still had a few months before the pregnancy would show, and suddenly I became superstitious - who knows what could happen? I was fortunate that I didn't have morning sickness so the first three months were uneventful.

Then, one day we bought a night table and Aron was carrying it on his back, and I was following him, stupidly trying to help. The next day, while working in the library, I had some bleeding. Not saying a word to anybody, I went to the washroom to clean up. Luckily, it stopped, but that evening I phoned the doctor and she told me to come immediately. After the examination, she told me that I was on my way to miscarrying the baby, and ordered me to spend a few weeks in bed. She gave me the sick list to show at work and then my secret was out.

My good friend, Bronia, was insulted that I hid it from her. What could I say? I was in such turmoil about giving birth to a new life that I was really depressed, wondering if I was doing the right thing. What if.....? My husband didn't have any doubts, so I didn't share mine, knowing he would just shrug them off as "woman's emotions"

I spent a week in bed and went to work. I did everything I was doing before and didn't ask for favours as an expectant mother would. And, nothing happened. I gained so little that many didn't think I was pregnant, especially with my small stature. Sometime in January, when I was in my seventh month, I started my maternity leave of four months. Then, I was able to stay home and wait.

It was nice to be in the cozy room, alone, knowing that it was my nest and nobody could tell me to leave. I had a lot of free time to knit and sew, as I didn't have anything for the coming child. I got so superstitious that I didn't even write Eva about my pregnancy.

Eva. After five years of silence while in Odessa, I finally wrote to her. It was wrong not to write, as they were so worried about me; they thought for sure I was in prison or Gulag. But, not having my own address, I risked losing my employment if it came out, so I resigned myself. Only after marrying Aron did I break my silence and they were happy I was still alive. Eva and Paul sent me clothing and this was a tremendous help for us. They also sent me pictures of the children who were born during this period, and I was happy that their lives were so full.

Luba and Marysia wrote me, too, and they were all doing very well. Luba was in France, Marysia in Canada.

My life at that time was so different from theirs that it couldn't be compared. They lived in a democracy, free. I lived behind an Iron Curtain in a totalitarian regime. I didn't like it, detested it as I didn't believe in it. The hypocrisy of the elite, who lived the "Dolce Vita" life, was so clear to everybody that you had to be blind and deaf not to see it. The tragedy was, that you were not allowed to speak your mind, you had to be careful to whom you spoke and of what or the situation could become very nasty. For example, I can remember one episode when I worked in the factory.

I was a member of the Komsomol then and the youth have an obligation to help in the elections.

No excuses. It is a political crime to refuse.

So I was one of the many agitators who checked who voted and if somebody was in doubt, it was your obligation to make him vote.

So, I remember, it was winter, cold, and I had an address of a voter who refused to vote. I didn't blame him. So I walked in the deep snow a couple of miles and finally knocked on the door. A very angry old man opened the door and told me to go to hell. He was not voting for this stinking government. But I began to argue and he kicked me in the butt and I ended up on a ditch across the street.

Sure, I didn't try again, but I refused to even repeat what he told me. I simply admitted that I couldn't help in this matter. I some way, I was full of sympathy with the old man.

My party bosses who headed the election sitting in warm rooms, put a notice in my file that I couldn't convince people to come out to vote in the election.

There were elections, even though everybody knew that 99.9% of the votes were a lie, but everyone was obliged to vote.. Voting lasted twenty-four hours. One day. It was a weekend and early in the morning, like at six o’clock, and there was banging at the door.”Time to vote!” I got mad and didn’t open the door and told them we had all day. Mumbling threats they went away. Feeling uncomfortable, I went at eight o’clock in the morning to vote. I did my duty.

A few years later in 1952 when my case with the Komsomol was on the table, they looked for my sins and suddenly the story about the voting came out. They accused me of anti-Soviet behaviour because I refused to vote. It didn’t matter that I went shortly after, the report of the zealots told it all.

It was a terrible regime and a rotten society developed by informers and liars.

Anyway, in Latvia we felt that we were not the enemy. The Russians had the honour of being the enemy and the Latvians hated them with a passion, more than the Jews.. I think we held second place, as they didn’t like us either.

On the twenty-first of March we went to a movie in the evening.. It was a Hungarian comedy called “Smart Girl” and we enjoyed it. At twelve o’clock we came home. As my husband slept, a read a book for a while; then something began to bother me.

I was holding on until three o’clock in the morning when I finally woke Aron and told him that I thought it had started. He sheepishly said “But the taxis begin work at six o’clock.” It didn’t occur to either of us to call the emergency as we both forgot about this service which was free in Russia, unlike the taxis. So, by then I was on the floor, writhing in pain, and my husband was watching the clock - soon it would be six o’clock. Then he ran out while I waited until he came back with a taxi. At seven o’clock we were in the women’s hospital.

The nurse who checked me said that I would give birth after nine o’clock. She sent me to the pre-birth room, where a bunch of women were moaning and jumping in pain, with no doctor around.